Phil was silent for a moment, and still tugged at his oar, for neither of them had stopped during this conversation. In that moment of extremest peril there was no time to be taken up in deliberating. He had either to consent to Pat’s proposition, or refuse, and that at once. “The boat’ll upset,” cried Pat, “sure. You jump out wid me whin I give the word. But ye’ll have to take off yer coat first. Yer bound to get a duckin, ony way, an ye’d better do as I say.” “I’ll do it,” cried Phil, suddenly and decidedly. “Aff wid yer coat, thin,” cried Pat. Both boys flung down their oars, and whipped off their coats in an instant. The boat was dragged now, without any further resistance, straight towards the Falls. “Grab howld of yer oar,” cried Pat, quickly. “Stand up, an’ jump whin I give the word--ony mind, whin ye do jump, jump for’ard as fur as ye can.” “Yes,” said Phil, quietly. The two boys now stood up, each grasping an oar, and watching the water before them. The boat drifted down--nearer and nearer! Phil’s heart throbbed fast in the suspense of that dread moment, but Pat stood cool, collected, with his sharp, eager glance watching for the right time to jump. And now that mighty mass of water, that lifted itself up in a heap, as it rose and rounded itself over the sunken ledge, grasped the boat, and raised it on high in its tremendous embrace, and impelled it forward. For a moment the boat seemed to linger there hesitating. Then it trembled in every fibre. Then it slowly turned round, till its broad side was presented to the waters below. Then one side was slowly drawn down under the water, while the other side rose up. Behind it a wall of water rushed. Suddenly Pat gave a loud yell-- “Jump!” Phil was already standing with the oar poised in one hand, and the other hand outstretched, waiting for Pat’s word. Every nerve, every sinew, was on the alert, and before the whole word was fairly spoken, and before Pat himself had sprung, Phil leaped forward. His feet touched the water first, He went down. A tremendous grasp seemed to seize upon him, dragging him downward, and ever downward. He gave himself up for lost. In the whirl of his senses, he seemed sinking into fathomless abysses, and in his ears there were the howling and the abhorrent uproar, and the deafening thunder-peal of a thousand cataracts. Then, in the midst of all this, another grasp clutched him, and dragged him swiftly forward, and whirled him round and round. Then he seemed to be thrown upward by the resistless upheaval of some mighty mass beneath him, and then suddenly he shot forth, out of the darkness and the uproar of the ingulfing waters, into the upper air and the glad light of day. Clutching his oar, which he had held all this time with the grasp of a drowning man, he drew a long breath, and looked all around. Above him was the blue sky; farther on, across the sky, hung the suspension bridge; behind him was the howl of the Charybdis that he had just escaped.